I had a little older lady customer today who stood there for about fifteen minutes trying to decide what to get. In the end, she bought the one, little book she had in her hand. She kept mumbling things like, "I'd have a sandwich if I hadn't been eating so much cheese. I have three cheese dishes at home. What's in this sandwich?" She pointed to the Roasted Tomato Caprese.
"Tomatos, cheese, pesto..." I told her.
"Do you have homemade soup?"
Homemade? Seriously? Sure, fresh this mornin'. I got here at four a.m. to peel potatoes.
I pointed to the soup sign above the sandwiches. "That's our soup of the day." It was potato and Leek.
"I'd have a bowl of soup, but it has all that cheese..."
It has potatoes, leeks, and carrots in a creamy broth. Where does the sign say cheese, I wondered.
"Well, where are your healthy drinks?"
Well, we don't have 5o-calorie mango-banana smoothies chalk-full of vitamins and antioxidents, but we do have two sugar-free flavors. *smile, smile*
I was too terrified to mention the vivanno, which is as close to healthy as we get. So, instead I asked, "Hot or cold?" Naturally I was hoping she'd go with a hot drink, with it being about twenty degrees outside.
"Hot."
Good.
"Are you wanting something low-calorie?" Low-calorie is all we can do. Coffee isn't particularly healthy. Besides, we're a cafe, not a health food restaurant.
"Yeah," She said, all the while I'm wondering why. She's skinny, she's old. Why worry about calories?
"Well, we can make any of the hot drinks with skim. We also have two sugar-free flavors. Vanilla and caramel. You could get a sugar-free, skim latte."
"Hmm..." She stared at the menu behind me another few minutes then wandered back to the bake case. "I'd have soup, but..."
She glanced up at the posters of enlarged food pictures next to the menu.
"What's in the Roasted Tomato Sandwich?" She asked.
Ummm...Tomatos?
"That's the same sandwich you were looking at in the case there," I informed her politely, pointing toward the plastic replica in the bake case.
"Oh." She set her book on the counter. "I'm just going to get this. Can I pay for it here?"
"Sure!" I told her, relieved she was finally leaving.
It was a book about calories, and I had to stop myself from groaning out loud.
My next customer knew exactly what she wanted, was happy and pleasant. And, as I was making her drink- a venti, non-fat latte- I glanced outside at the brilliant sunshine. I normally hate sunshine, I prefer gray, storm clouds. But I knew it was freezing out there- even though, under my layers of black clothing, I was about to have heat stroke- and the sun shining off the mounds of frozen-solid snow was beautiful. I smiled and felt happy. For a moment, just one tiny fraction of time, I was almost my old self again. But I handed over her drink, and the feeling passed, the depression came back to cover my heart once more.
To change the subject, a couple of days ago I stopped at On The Run to fill up my gas tank. As I climbed out of my green Ford, I glanced over to my right. I could have sworn that the person a few pumps over was a friend of mine from high school. He looked exactly like Andrew. But, I was uncertain. It was a bright day, I had on sunglasses, his head was at an angle, so I shrugged it off and stepped inside to pre-pay. My jaw dropped, literally. Was that Josh at the register? Andrew's twin brother? I was completely weirded out. He glanced at me, but I was still unsure. It has been about five years since I have seen them, after all. I pay for my gasoline at the second register and go back to my car, all the while openly staring. As I am about to get in my car, the Josh doppleganger drives past me, he is also staring at me. I went to work. That was all. Maybe I should have said something, but I honesltly thought I was seeing things. This wasn't the first time I've thought I've seen old friends.
I had a customer give me a compliment today. A lady paid for her coffee with a gift card. The dange thing was being extremely difficult. I finally got it to work by putting in the long number on the back of the card. That was the last of the gift card. She asked me to throw it away, so I tossed it across the cafe toward the trash can, and I missed. I missed a lot. It bounced off the rolly cart and landed on the floor near the frap fridge.
I started laughing. "I have really bad aim."
She laughed too, and said, "Good thing you're a barista and not a basketball player."
"I thought about it once, but only because of my grandpa."
My grandpa holds the world record for most consecutive free throws. He never played professional ball, but he did write a book on free throws. Look him up. Ted St. Martin.
Anyway, I gave her her mocha and get the next customer's tall coffee. As I hand it to him, he tells me, "Your job suits your personality." He smiled and wandered away. You know, I do believe I was made for this job. After being an author, of course.
I was telling a freind yesterday, "If I ever open my bookstore, we'd go to work in pajamas and kick off our shoes and leave them off all day. And if customers are rude, my employees can be rude right back." Of course, Kevin told me I'd have no customers then. So? If someone is unnecessarily rude to an employee, I'm not going to make them smile and be polite. Who cares if that person comes into my store again or not? I don't really want want rude people shopping there anyway. Go ahead, tell the bitch off. My behavior will only mirror yours. Like Dime Lady at the DG. I wasn't taking that crap. And I think I would have customers. Not only the nice ones who aren't complete asses, but ones who also work in retail and know all about these evil customers. I would shop where employees had this freedom. If I were rude to them, I would want them to be just as rude back, put me in my place, knock me off my high horse. Just how I feel, is all.
I would love to own my own bookstore someday. I've actually planned it all. I would only sell children's books, teen books. Only one's I have read and like. I don't want people spending money on bad books, after all. And, though I don't really want to sell coffee in my store, I'd have to have a cafe in the corner. Yes, in a children's bookstore. Mom grabs a mocah while her child reads a book. My sister Carrie will run the cafe, that's all her. We even have a name picked out. Our store would be called Scotch Tape and Happy Beans. Scotch Tape for the bookstore because at Christmastime, nothing smells better than scotch tape. In July I can pick up a roll, press it against my nose, and I'm reminded that the evil heat coming off the pavement will be gone the second winter comes round again. It smells like gift wrapping and cold. Weird? Absolutely, but I love it. And coffee beans are always happy. Happy Beans.
I had a customer, a huge woman with black, curly hair and two chins. She walked up with a short man with facial hair. I smile at them. They ignore me. They mumble amongst themselves, then I hear her say, "It's not pumpkin cheesecake." And they walk away.
Well, It's not Fall.
Another, older, couple came up. The woman asked, "Do you have fountain soda?"
"No..." But before I could finish what I was about to say, she turns to the man with her, who is retreating ouf of cafe. They say something to one another, then she turns back to me.
"Do you have fountain soda?"
Once again I tell her no. "The only soda we have is in the beverage case."
She looked. "I don't see any soda."
That's because I'm lying.
"The IBC."
She makes a face. "Root Beer."
Yeah. And, if you look closely, your almost blind eyes will notice there is also Diet Root Beer, Black Cherry, and Cream Soda.
"So you don't have fountain soda?"
"No."
She walks away.
"Go to a gas station," I mutter under my breath to her back.
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